The Battle of Tub's Depth
by witchheart
Summary: On their son's name-day, Arwen finally decides that if Aragorn isn't going to wash his hair, she will do it for him!


Disclaimer: I own, um, lemme see, ummmm, the maids! Yes, I own the maids; the maids are mine! Ha, ha, ha, ha! Other than that, everything belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs, the lucky dogs.  
  
The name-day of Eldarion, Heir-Prince of Gondor, dawned bright and clear. As the nurse dressed the exalted infant in his fantastic confection of a name-day gown, his mother, Arwen Evenstar, Queen of Gondor, daughter of Elrond and wife of Elessar Telcontar, King of Gondor and Numenor, seemed to glow in her own radiant happiness. It seemed to her that this day was a perfect showing of the fruits of the long, dark years of suffering that had come before.  
  
For two glorious years now, she had been wedded to the man she loved: Elessar, Aragorn, Strider, Estel. It was strange, she thought, how those two short years had already made her thousands of years of waiting worthwhile. For Arwen was an elvenlady, as beautiful as the star from whence her name came, and as long-lived. For untold centuries, she had been merely her father's daughter, the beloved of her people. Then Estel had come into her life, and the thirty years she had been without him had somehow seemed longer than the countless years before. But now they were united for all their days, and a child had been born of their love.   
  
As if called by her thoughts, Aragorn appeared at the doorway. Smiling to see the joy on her face, he bent over Eldarion's cradle. He had obviously just come from the stables: he wore boots and leather riding clothes and his longish hair hung stringily down his neck. Arwen's nose wrinkled slightly; the only thing that irked her about her beloved was his lack of hygiene when it came to his hair. Oh, well. At least everyone would get to see him clean and well-groomed at the ceremony today.  
  
"Estel", Arwen said, "Don't you think you should start getting ready for the ceremony? It starts in less than an hour."   
  
There was genuine confusion in Aragorn's face as he asked, "Why so early? Changing my clothes only takes five minutes or so."   
  
Arwen snapped.   
  
Their wedding had been one thing. The whole country had been in an uproar in the immediate aftermath off the war, and Aragorn had hardly had a moment to catch his breath since he stepped off the battlefield. Greasy, mud-daubed hair had been almost omnipresent among the citizens of Gondor, even at that great festival, and it had been perfectly understandable. But now! Everyone in the great hall would be meticulously clean and perfectly dressed and Arwen would not have the King of Gondor looking like a tramp unsure of the purpose of soap!  
  
Aragorn caught the dangerous flash in his wife's eyes and edged toward the door. "But if you like, I'll dress now so I'll be ready early," he offered.   
  
Arwen turned to the maids. "Please draw a bath in our majesties' room," she ordered crisply. "Nice and hot, with lots of soap." Panic was beginning to flicker in Aragorn's eyes as he attempted to beat a hasty retreat from the room, but Arwen was swifter. She took hold of his arm and towed him determinedly towards their chamber, blind and deaf to his frantic protests.   
  
The maids listening at the keyhole over the next quarter of an hour heard a din that would have gladdened the heart of any ten-year-old boy in the kingdom: the great King Elessar of Gondor, conqueror of Sauron and all his forces, yelling like a maniac and splashing water farther than the highest wave ever seen upon the Western Sea. When the soap was brought out, he began shouting for the elite squad of the castle guard until his wife dunked his head under the surface. Finally, there was absolute silence.   
  
Shortly afterwards, the royal couple emerged. Arwen was just as thoroughly soaked as her husband, who looked pale, rather shell-shocked, and astonishingly clean, much more so than anyone could remember seeing him before. Their majesties dressed in the fine clothes that had been sewn especially for the name-day ceremony, and Arwen took tiny Eldarion in her arms for the ride to the hall. Still looking stunned, Aragorn led the way. A great escort of lords and princes met them at the castle gates, led by Faramir, Steward of Gondor. Faramir looked somewhat alarmed as he glaced at his sovereign in this unprecedented state of cleanliness.   
  
"Your majesties," the Steward greeted them, recovering his composure, "We hail you and our new Heir-Prince on this great day of joy and gladness."  
  
Arwen smiled.   
  
A/N: This is my first fanfic, and I am EXTREMELY proud that I have learned to post things after only ten or so tries and about five hours of instruction from my wonderful and patient friends. I wrote this for fun after a friend and I came up with the idea while waving to the Lord of the Rings poster at Blockbuster from the bus, as is our custom (or was, until the stupid fools took the poster down. Death to the Blockbuster employees!!!!) Thanks for reading this, and I hope you enjoyed it. Any and all reviews would be greatly appreciated. 


End file.
